


in the afterglow of day

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Handsy Hermann, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Post-Canon, drive-in movie theaters, i suppose LOL, quick little oneshot!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 11:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19108642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: The drive-in seemed like the perfect place: romantic, with enough relative privacy that they could bicker to their hearts’ content (and maybe even make out a bit).Newt should’ve known that Hermann would merely take it as an invitation to screw him in the back of their car.





	in the afterglow of day

**Author's Note:**

> an early birthday fic for dr. hermann gottlieb himself! hope u enjoy!
> 
> drive-in theater is loosely (read: completely) based on the one i usually go to during the summer w friends

“It’s romantic, right?” says Newt. “This is romantic? You feel properly...I don’t know, romanced?”

“I do,” Hermann says. “Very much so.”

“Better than a dumb dinner reservation, right?” Newt says.

“Much better,” Hermann agrees.

“No formalwear,” Newt says, “no overpriced wine, no phone calls—”

“Newton,” Hermann says into the crook of Newt’s neck, and he sounds a bit exasperated now. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re _more_ than welcome to shut up whenever you’d like.”

“Right,” Newt says. “Sorry.”

He adjusts his knee so as not to put strain on Hermann’s, as Hermann’s hands (big, wandering) plant themselves firmly on Newt’s ass and squeeze. They’re warm even through the denim of his jeans. Newt shivers and keens, just a bit. “Mm. Yeah. Perfect.”

“When is the film meant to start?” Hermann murmurs. He nips at Newt’s throat.

“Hnnng?” Newt says eloquently.

“The film,” Hermann says. He squeezes Newt’s ass again, and drags his tongue back to trace a little heart beneath Newt’s ear. Newt jostles so hard his glasses nearly fall to the floor, and his left foot nearly hits the seat recliner lever.

“Mhmph,” Newt says.

“Newton,” Hermann says.

“Sunset,” Newt gasps. “Starts at sunset. Start. Films, plural. It’s—uh—it’s a double feature.”

It seemed like the sort of romantic old-school thing that would get Hermann all weak-kneed and starry-eyed. A little more unique than what they usually do for each other’s birthdays, at least, which is spend the entire day having sex, go out for dinner, and then come home and have more sex. Newt’s never had a problem with that before, and neither has Hermann, he’s pretty sure, but last week when Newt went to make reservations for Hermann’s birthday dinner (their favorite sushi place) he was struck with the urge to do something... _more_. They like seeing movies together. Always have. They especially like _arguing_ with each other during movies. The drive-in seemed like the perfect place: romantic, with enough relative privacy that they could bicker to their hearts’ content (and maybe even make out a bit).

Newt should’ve known that Hermann would merely take it as an invitation to screw him in the back of their car (back seats lowered to be flush with the floor, blanket from their bed spread out over the empty expanse of the trunk), which is where he’s very obviously nudging Newt towards even as he kneads and prods and kisses at him.

“I want to fuck you in the back our car,” Hermann purrs, helpfully, and unnecessarily, in Newt’s ear.

“Oh,” Newt squeaks anyway. He’s always a bit taken aback when Hermann gets vocal about these sorts of things; back when they were still holed up in the same lab, Hermann refused to do anything more than make eyes at Newt and _maybe_ unbutton his collar when he was feeling up for some intimate attention. “Shouldn’t we eat something first?”

“Mm,” Hermann hums, “if you insist.” He untucks the hem of Newt’s Godzilla t-shirt from his jeans and wiggles one hand up his sweaty back. His other continues cupping Newt’s ass. Hermann’s always had a strange preoccupation with Newt’s ass. Treats it like his own personal stress toy or something. Or a security blanket—often, Newt will wake up in the middle of the night to Hermann with a death grip on it. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so inconvenient for when he has to, like, pee at 3 A.M. “What do you suggest I eat?” Hermann punctuates this with another squeeze, an even sharper nip to Newt’s throat, and an unmistakably filthy grin.

Newt chokes on air, spasming so hard he has to grip onto the headrest in an effort to not fall back against the dashboard. “Jesus, Hermann!”

Hermann laughs, strangely sweet, then kisses the spot he’s just bitten and gives Newt’s ass a gentle pat. “Oh, fine. Get your dinner then. I wouldn’t say no to a soft pretzel.”

The walk to the concession stand is a bit embarrassing, considering how Newt has to waddle so people don’t realize how uncomfortably horny he is, and he’s thankful the daylight is dimming enough that it’s barely noticeable. Hermann passed him a crumpled $20 from his wallet when he slipped out (despite Newt’s protests that it’s Hermann’s _birthday_ , man, Newt’s got this one covered), and there’s enough change left over once Newt buys them dinner that he can stick a few quarters into one of those dumb vending machines and get some tiny plastic aliens. Totally worth it.

“Hey,” he says once he makes it back into the car. He passes Hermann his food—a cheeseburger, the requested pretzel, a soda—and then one of the tiny aliens. The blue one. Hermann stares at it in surprise for a few seconds before accepting it along with the food. “Happy birthday.”

“Er,” Hermann says. “Thank you?”

Newt pulls out his green one. “Look, he’s on a skateboard. Yours is _skiing_.”

“Oh,” Hermann says, and then, slightly less uncertain, “Thank you.” He slips the alien into his top pocket. Newt smiles and shuts the door.

They eat their dinner—Hermann reaching over and picking out most of Newt’s fries, Newt downing most of Hermann’s soda—and then Hermann folds his hands in his lap and begins doing a lot of throat-clearing and gesturing and nodding towards the trunk, and after _that_ , touching Newt’s knee and fluttering his long eyelashes. “Newton,” he says. “Newton, darling.” His hand slips up, higher, from Newt’s knee.

Newt nearly chokes again, this time on Hermann’s soda. “ _Alright_ ,” he says. “Wait a hot sec, will you?”

By the time Newt finishes the soda, Hermann is shrugging off his blazer; by the time Newt finishes off his funnel cake, Hermann is unbuttoning his shirt.

“Okay,” Newt declares, truthfully growing impatient himself, and wipes powdered sugar on his jeans. “Done. Make sure you shut the trunk first, will you?” He’s sure they’ll be obvious enough fucking back there as is—the last time they did this in the car, the windows had _actually_ fogged up, Titanic-style—but at least this’ll give them a little privacy. Plausible deniability, maybe. Enough time to pull on pants should someone ignore the rocking and come a-knocking.

“Mm-hmm,” Hermann says, eagerly, and begins fumbling around for his cane.

 

Hermann strips Newt down to his socks and boxers while the reel of movie trailers rolls, then down to _nothing_ when the title card for the first movie pops up—Newt’s on his back, angled awkwardly, but he can make out enough of the screen through the small trunk window to know what’s going on, and they’ve left the radio on. “We could be arrested for public indecency,” he gasps, while Hermann tosses his own undershirt somewhere far out of sight. “For—uh—”

“You’re gorgeous,” Hermann says in his ear, and all Newt’s anxieties melt away. “ _Stunning_ , really.” The look he gives Newt when he pulls away is one of open, raw hunger: eyes sweeping down Newt’s bare chest, the soft folds of his love handles, the gentle finger-shaped bruises at his thighs where Hermann’d clenched tight as Newt rode him the other night. No one’s ever loved Newt as intensely as Hermann. It intimidates him, sometimes—as if one false move could make Hermann stop, as if Newt doesn’t even believe himself worthy of any of it.

Right now it’s just making Newt horny.

“Touch me already, jackass,” he moans, breaking his own it's-Hermann's-birthday-and-I'll-do-whatever-he-wants rule.

Hermann flashes him a smile—one of those broad, toothy ones that means he’s _really_ pleased about something—and reaches out to squeeze at Newt’s sides. “You always feel so lovely,” he sighs happily.

“Take your stupid pants off,” Newt adds in another moan, once those wandering hands wander up from his love handles to his chest and pinch at his nipples. Damn Hermann—he knows _exactly_ what Newt likes.

Hermann takes off his pants, and then he takes off his tighty-whiteys (dorky, adorable, very Hermann), and there’s a brief moment of pawing through clothing to find the lubricant that Hermann brought (because of _course_ he did) before he tugs Newts back up tight against his chest, wraps an arm over his waist, and nudges his slicked-up dick between Newt’s thighs. “Thought you were gonna fuck me,” Newt pants.

Hermann begins rubbing at Newt’s nipples again once he’s settled snugly against Newt’s ass. “Too much effort,” he says. “It's _far_ easier to make love to you like this. Squeeze tight, won’t you, my love.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Newt whimpers, “I love it when you call me that.”

He clenches his thighs together obediently, good enough that Hermann lets out a low, deep groan in his ear and his long fingers (the ones not fondling Newt’s chest) dig into his hip. “Yes, Newton,” Hermann breathes. “Perfect. Oh—” His mouth, hot and wet, latches onto the back of Newt’s neck, and Newt whimpers again as Hermann begins to thrust lazily.

It’s great, and it’s awesome, and _fuck_ if it doesn’t feel good (Hermann pinching his nipples into little peaks, Hermann’s dick grazing over each sensitive bit of skin down there), but Newt hasn’t exactly got the world’s best attention span (ADHD, you know) and after a few minutes of Hermann grunting and working his hips Newt’s mind...starts to _wander_. It wanders to the converted, cramped trunk of their car, which they’ve had to wriggle around a bit in to fit length-wise and is a bit uncomfortably lumpy even with the blankets and pillows. It wanders to the mosquito Newt spies resting on the ceiling, probably wandered in before they rolled up the windows, almost definitely plotting to swoop down at them at any moment. It wanders to the cake he made in secret for Hermann and shoved into the back of their fridge to have when they get home and whether or not he put enough sprinkles on it or remembered to buy candles for it.

It wanders to the movie. He’s not sure what’s happening in it—he missed the first fifteen minutes thanks to Hermann, after all—but it looks like it’s getting good. It has aliens in it. Newt really missed sci-fi; it was always so _gauche_ back during the war, and hardly anything of the genre came out that wasn’t thinly-veiled (American) propaganda, but now that things are more or less back to normal everyone and their mother has been itching to produce them again. Thank God. The main guy in it is pretty hot, too. Not as hot as Hermann, obviously, that's impossible, but enough to be eye candy and pique Newt's interest. (Maybe he’ll get his shirt ripped off at some point.)

Newt realizes Hermann’s moved on from grunting incoherently to whispering at some point. Pretty dirty shit, too—enough to make Newt blush if he was actually playing attention. Hermann’s only recently vocal about when he wants to get hot and heavy with Newt, and he’s even more recently vocal about _how_ he wants to get hot and heavy with Newt. He’s always mortified about it afterwards, but it adds to the charm of it, somehow. Newt does his very best to tune into that instead. (Hermann's birthday, he reminds himself; he should be getting Newt's full attention.)

“—and spread your legs,” Hermann is murmuring, “and—”

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

“—cover your pretty little—”

On the big screen, the main guy is seized by one of the aliens, who begins to wrap him up in their many arms and decidedly _not_ in a sexy way. More invested in the guy’s fate, and the movie, than he realized, Newt gasps in shock. Hermann clearly misinterprets.

“Mm, you like the sound of that?” Hermann says with a little laugh, hot at his ear, and pinches his nipple.

“Uh,” Newt says, blinking dazedly, not entirely sure what he’s about to agree to. “...Yes?”

The response seems to please Hermann. He tilts Newt’s head back and kisses him, obscene and sloppy, sucking on his tongue for good measure (a move that always drives Newt nuts), and takes two handfuls of Newt’s sides and kneads at him. He speeds up his thrusts between Newt’s legs. “Newton,” he grunts into Newt’s mouth, “oh, Newton, I love you terribly—”

This gets Newt’s attention; he thinks there’d be something wrong with him if it didn’t, frankly. “Love you too,” he gasps out, then slips, blissfully, back into all the wonderful sensations bombarding him courtesy of Hermann, movie all but forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at hermannsthumb, and twitter at hermanngaylieb!


End file.
